I used to be a cold hearted killer. Even in my twenties, I used to cruise country roads and shoot anything that moved that wasn't livestock. (Sidenote: Magpies have a sixth sense. Draw a bead, gently squeezing the trigger, just as the sleeping pill is about to launch, they would fly.) But, a day came, and I'm not sure how long ago, but I lost the killer instinct. People at work would talk about an elk they shot or a huge fish they caught, and I tune out. Now I stand on my back patio and watch tree squirrels playing tag through the bushes, or a pair of osprey harassing each other, one perched, the other in flight. A badger sneaking through the fences, and I envy them their joy and love of life.